


Dichotomy

by ProneToRelapse



Series: The Thot Sent By CyberLife [7]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Sex Toys, Fluff, Interchangeable Genitalia, M/M, Smut, Squirting, Vaginal Sex, genderfluidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 19:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15978974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: It’s Hank’s turn to get kinky before 10 AM.Sort of. A little bit.Okay, the intention was there.





	Dichotomy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nichigin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichigin/gifts).



> i use blanket terms for vagina and the objects theirin like clit and all that jazz. if that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read it ❤️
> 
> for Nic, because you help me and i love you, my little ray of sunshine.

Hank figures that, with Connor’s alarming propensity for breaking the ‘no kinkiness before ten AM’ rule, he’s allowed a little leeway himself when the opportunity presents itself for him to bend his own rules a bit. It’s not like Connor ever listens anyway, and Hank’s not even that bothered about stopping him. Last time he’d tried, Connor had recited figures and statistics at him for about twenty minutes about how regular sex was improving Hank’s longevity or something to that effect.

 

And it’s not a regular occurrence, anyway. Hank wouldn’t even be considering this type of thing if it hadn’t been put right in front of his face. Normally Connor’s the one eagerly picking up and testing all the fandangled sex upgrades while Hank just follows along mildly traumatised. He should really know better by now. So far Connor hasn’t picked an upgrade that Hank hasn’t enjoyed.

 

Which is why Hank’s even remotely considering this, tapping through his personal emails on his tablet on a lazy Sunday, the heavy but warm weight of Connor a comforting presence sprawled over his chest. Hank rests the tablet and the hand holding it on the back of Connor’s neck, in the little dip between the slope of his shoulders, idly stroking fingers through the soft hair there when he pauses scrolling to read an email before deleting it. Connor doesn’t do much in his version of sleep. Just latches onto Hank like a koala and refuses to move until his stasis cycle ends. Not that Hank minds. He’s a cuddler, always has been.

 

Not that he’d ever breathe a word of that to anyone.

 

Connor breathes soft and slow in his sleep, LED pulsing a gentle white while he updates his systems and diagnoses his processes and all the technical shit that goes in one of Hank’s ears and right out the other. He didn’t even breathe at first, just laid there like a corpse and it took a few days of carefully disguised pleas before Connor got the upgrades necessary to emulate proper not-dead sleep. And that is something Hank is very on board with. Sharp, put together, immaculate android all sleepy and fluffy-haired when his systems boot up in the morning? Hank’s cellphone memory is nearly full because of those photos.

 

And he’s taking the opportunity while it’s here because it’s very rare that Connor wakes up after Hank does. Usually the android is the one up and about before seven AM, bustling around the house getting ready for the day and Hank would absolutely hate it if he didn’t fucking adore the sight of Connor milling around in boxers and one of Hank’s shirts while he makes coffee.

 

Hank hits the confirm order button with a creeping sense of excitement before putting his tablet down on the side and tucking an arm behind his head to revel in the secret sordidness of what he’s just done. If he knows Connor like he thinks he does – and he’s pretty damn sure he knows the kid pretty fuckin’ well by now – this whole thing is gonna go down pretty good.

 

Hank grins to himself, twirling one of Connor’s errant curls round his forefinger.

 

Thank god for next-day delivery.

 

—

 

“Hank? You have a parcel.”

 

Hank forces himself not to vault the fucking couch in his haste to get to the door first, just looks over his shoulder as Connor opens the door to receive the package from the drone, looking the box over with raised eyebrows as he brings it over to Hank.

 

“What have you ordered from CyberLife?” His tone is light, but Hank can hear the suspicion in it. That, and his LED is flashing yellow a mile a minute.

 

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Hank says, plucking the box out of his hands. “I was just doing a little shopping, that’s all.”

 

Connor isn’t placated by that, but he lets it go. Even if his eyes do keep darting between the box by Hank’s feet and the tv screen at regular intervals. Hank decides to let him stew for a little while, hiding a smirk by taking a long drink of his beer and keeping his eyes on the game.

 

Mostly. Connor is very distracting.

 

—

 

“You’re really not going to tell me what’s in the box?”

 

Hank hides a smile. Mainly because Connor is staring at his reflection in the kitchen mirror while Hank washes up the plates from dinner, and he doesn’t want to clue Connor in that he’s playing with him.

 

“I’d forgotten about it. Why’re you so interested?”

 

“It’s a CyberLife product,” Connor points out as though Hank is particularly dense. “It’s obviously something to do with me.”

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“Your elevated heart rate confirms it. You’re excited and you’re trying to tease me.”

 

“You suck the fun out of everything, you know that? I’ll show you, just be _patient._ ”

 

Patient is something Connor is emphatically _not._ It stands to reason, what with how focused he’d been during the whole deviancy case, how he was programmed with positive responses when he completed his directives, that he’s like a dog with a bone whenever there’s a mystery or puzzle that needs to be cracked. His naturally curious nature means he patently does not know how to leave this well enough alone, which is evident when he immediately fetches the box and brings it to the kitchen table, giving it a shake like that’ll enlighten him to the contents. His lower lip pushes out into an adorable pout when it doesn’t.

 

“Jesus, you’re worse than Sumo.”

 

“I’m curious. And slightly nervous, I suppose. I wasn’t aware of any new upgrades for my model.”

 

“It’s not specific to your model,” Hank says mildly. “Just compatible.”

 

“Hank, I will absolutely rip this box open.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“I— Wait, really?”

 

Hank dries his hands on the dish rag. Turns to lean back against the counter and nods. “Yeah, go on. I figure you’ve been patient enough. For you, anyway.”

 

Connor doesn’t waste any more time. He takes a knife from the block on the side and pops open the catches on the box, tossing the knife onto the table with a clatter as he lifts open the lid. Hank leans forward himself, curious to see the actual products in person and not on a screen. Connor lifts out the two items, turning them over between his fingers, LED cycling yellow.

 

“Throw me that one,” Hank says, pointing to the one in Connor’s left hand. He does and Hank catches it easily, unwrapping it from the protective packaging and slipping it onto his right hand. It fits round his wrist with a simple strap, with thin, flexible wires that run up his palm into circular sensors that latch onto his fingertips. It looks like a bizarre kind of brace, but it’s unobtrusive and easy enough to wear.

 

Connor looks down at the small data drive in his hand, frowning as he examines it. “I’m at a loss,” he admits, glancing to Hank. “I’ve got no idea what this is.”

 

“Good,” Hank says cheerfully. “Let Sumo outside for a bit then come to bed, okay?”

 

Connor’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second and he closes his fist tightly round the drive, understanding lighting his eyes. Hank grins, offers him a wink, and heads to the bedroom, adjusting the length of the brace. Quite a clever little thing, if you ask him. Technology sure has come a long way from dial up and floppy disks.

 

Hank strips down to his boxers and sits propped up against the headboard, fiddling with the sensors on the brace so they sit comfortably against the pads of his fingers. It’s a neat little thing for what it’s supposed to do. Hank flutters his fingers, testing his range of motion. All good, no restriction. That’ll make things easier.

 

He hears the back door close and Sumo pad off to bed before Connor appears in the doorway, flicking the drive between his fingers like he does with his coin. Hank grins and beckons him over, crooking the forefinger of the hand wearing the brace. Connor’s eyes are fixed on it as he approaches, drive tucked under two fingers as he tugs his shirt off over his head.

 

“Come sit,” Hank says, patting the bed beside him. “With your back to me.”

 

Connor perches somewhat stiffly, the outline of his polymer spine stiff under the skin of his back. Hank runs his bare hand slowly over his shoulders, softly, stroking down the arch of his spine until Connor’s shoulders loosen somewhat and he lets out a soft sigh.

 

“Trust me?” Hank asks, holding a hand out for the drive.

 

“Always,” Connor says at once, dropping it into Hank’s waiting palm.

 

Hank kneels up behind him, rubbing his thumb over the nape of Connor’s neck. The skin there slowly recedes until the pad of the digit catches against the little panel in his chassis that slides open with a click. Gently Hank presses the drive into the port and Connor makes a soft sound low in his throat as his systems draw out the waiting data. He’s quiet for a long moment, Hank’s palms resting lightly on his shoulders, before his head pops up slightly and he gives a faint, breathy “ _oh_.”

 

“Yeah?” Hank rubs his thumbs up the sides of Connor’s neck, waiting for the little nod before he pulls the drive out. The port closes and the skin shifts back over before Connor is turning round, eyes wide and bright.

 

“Touch me,” Connor begs, reaching for the hand that wears the brace. Hank smirks and touches the sensors of his thumb and middle finger together to activate the device, before trailing his fingers lightly down Connor’s left pectoral. The android’s eyelids flutter and, under each point of contact of the sensors against his skin, a faint blue trail of light follows like the after image burned into eyes after too long spent looking at something bright.

 

“We’ve spent a long time looking for stuff that makes it easier to screw around like humans do,” Hank says, stroking one finger down the center of Connor’s chest. “I thought something like this would be a bit more… You.”

 

Connor’s face is the absolute picture definition of delight, though his eyes are dark with arousal. His fingers quickly and deftly unfasten his jeans while Hank trails his own across the smooth planes of his chest, watching the delicate azure light show that follows. He traces a heart shape over the faint outline of Connor’s thirium pump, and is rewarded with the softest of moans. He ghosts his fingers up to Connor’s throat, thumb rubbing gentle circles over the spot where his adam’s apple should be, until the skin under his thumb is glowing and Connor is all but purring underneath his touch.

 

Hank takes a little liberty with his free hand, slipping it inside Connor’s open jeans, fully intent on teasing the android with this practiced soft touches that elicit the most delightful reactions.

 

He stops short at the absence of what he was expecting, and Connor’s cheeks flush as he ducks his head.

 

“I wanted…” Connor swallows in that endearingly unnecessary human gesture. “I just…”

 

“Hey,” Hank says, brushing his fingertips lightly over the soft crease of Connor’s inner thigh. “You don’t ever gotta explain yourself. You feel more comfortable like this?”

 

“Some days,” Connor says, still not looking at Hank. His LED pulses yellow yellow yellow. Not always a sign of distress, but Hank would rather see it blue than any other colour. Red occasionally, if he plays his cards right. He thinks tonight might be a red light sort of night. He hopes so, at least.

 

“I’m glad,” Hank murmurs, fingers still drawing soft patterns on Connor’s neck and thigh. “Makes me stupidly happy when you choose to do stuff like that for yourself.”

 

Connor’s flush deepens, skin practically glowing, and slowly the light at his temple drifts back into calm, even blue. Hank smiles, he knows how hopelessly adoring he must look but Connor returns the smile with a small, private curl of his lips that Hank’s only ever seen grace his pretty face when they’re alone. That smile, the soft, delicate thing that’s just for Hank. He’s never felt so lucky. He doesn’t understand how he got here but he’s sure as fuck not gonna question it.

 

Sure as fuck doesn’t want to clue the universe in to the fact that it let a loveable goofball stumble right into his path, knocking him flat on his ass. It might try and take him back.

 

“Feel like getting on your back for me?” Hank asks, voice dropping into that low pitch that Connor goes mad for. Says it sounds like Hank is purring. Says it makes his auditory drives prick up, sends his thirium pump stuttering. And Hank is not a strong man when it comes to Connor, but he’s at least able to admit that knowing the effect he has on Connor is a heady fucking rush.

 

And Connor, for his part, responds wonderfully to the low growl of Hank’s voice, sprawling himself across the mattress with enough sudden eagerness that he bounces a little on the springs. Hank grins, mainly because he can’t stop himself – doesn’t particularly want to, either – at the bright-eyed, impatient expression on Connor’s face. It only takes a light brush of Hank’s fingers against the inward facing side of the android’s left knee for him to part them easily, legs spreading shamelessly and that, more than anything, is something Hank doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of seeing.

 

Not Connor spreading his legs – what kind of monster would ever get tired of that – but the eagerness with which he does so. There’s no nervous hesitancy there. Not with Connor, who was never taught shame. He knows what brings him pleasure, trusts Hank to find things he doesn’t yet know might feel good and show them to him. He’s so willing and eager, doesn’t hesitate to take what he wants when it’s offered. It’s— refreshing. If that’s even the right word for it. Hank doesn’t really know but, fuck, he loves it.

 

“Hank…?” Connor breaks into Hank’s thoughts with a soft murmur. Hank responds by trailing the interface pads down the inside of Connor’s right thigh. He shudders, pressing his lips together against a quiet moan and Hank has a wonderful, brilliant, absolutely _wicked_ idea.

 

“Open yourself up for me, baby.” Connor flushes at the words, cheeks tinted blue, but he obeys, slipping slender fingers down between his legs, index and middle finger of each hand sliding between delicate lips and spreading, baring his little pink clit to the warm air between them. He’s already slick, Hank isn’t surprised to note. Pleased, sure, but not surprised.

 

Hank gives an approving hum, not trusting himself to say anything that’s not downright filthy. Connor might not mind, but Hank wants this to be a _little_ more tender than a lust-fuelled fuck.

 

…For now, at least.

 

Hank leans forward, presses a soft kiss against Connor’s stomach. From this position he can hear, only faintly, the whirr of Connor’s internal fans working overtime to cool his systems, along with the short, quick little breaths he’s pulling into synthetic lungs. All working to cool down the heat Hank is causing.  

 

It’s all fruitless when Hank moves his hand, hidden by his own body, pressing one of the interface pads on his fingertip right up against Connor’s clit. Only a light press, more of a brush than anything else, but Connor’s eyes widen and he arches up off the bed with a shuddering, broken cry; a sound so utterly wrecked that Hank fears, only for a second, he might’ve actually broken him.

 

“H-H-H- _Hank—!”_ Connor stutters out, gripping the sheets so hard he tears right through them. His body convulses, unneeded breaths shuddering out of him and Hank…

 

Feels pretty damn proud of himself.

 

“Jesus,” he breathes, stroking Connor’s thigh with his bare hand. “You’re a fucking wonder, baby.”

 

“I-I-“ Connor whines, static crackling from his throat. “D-Don’t— I-It’s— I c-can’t—“

 

“Hey,” Hank says, voice soothing. “Easy, it’s okay. Feel good?”

 

Connor’s LED whirls a steady gold. He swallows hard and nods, fans kicking up higher as he tries to calm himself. “I-It’s… a lot.”

 

“Sorry,” Hank murmurs. “I couldn’t help myself.” He grins, a small, mischievous thing. “Can I do it again?”

 

Connor flushes such a deep blue he almost glows with it. “Absolutely not,” he says and Hank fights the wave of disappointment that breaks over him. “Not until you’re inside me.”

 

Hank perks up again at that. Literally. Well, not literally because he’s been hard without flagging since Connor took his clothes off, but there’s a definite reaction as he shifts back to slip his own boxers off. Connor slides down the bed a little to get comfortable, one hand splayed over his stomach as he watches Hank with hungry eyes.

 

They move seamlessly together, Connor’s legs parting further so Hank can settle between them, one hitching over his hip, skin warm from the heat his systems are giving off. Hank trails the interface over Connor’s stomach and the mewl he gets in response echoes in his ears as he lines up and sinks in to slick, wet heat.

 

When Connor’s like this, equipped with this particular component, his reactions are purer, slightly less controlled. It’s not often they use this one, but when they do, it’s like Connor’s tactile sensors are heightened. He’s not as used to this one as the others they use, and Hank is utterly besotted by the way Connor’s breath catches and his eyes roll back at that first slow slide into his body.

 

“God, Hank…” Connor lifts a hand to his mouth, fingers brushing over his lips, head tilted slightly against the pillows. He looks like a goddamn dream like this, eyes heavy-lidded and impossibly dark. Hank pushes down the urge to just let loose and drive into him, giving a slow rock of his hips instead, dragging against Connor’s insides with practiced accuracy. The response is immediate and perfect; Connor’s sharp intake of breath, the twitch of his body, the fluttering closed slide of his eyelids and the dark shadow of lashes against his pale cheeks.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a moan as Hank rolls into him again, trailing fingers along Connor’s ribs, painting the synthskin with more dazzling streams of light.

 

“Relax, baby,” Hank says, voice already unsteady. “Just feel, I’ve got you.”

 

Hank sinks into a rhythm he knows well now, hips rolling slow and steady, unravelling Connor with every stroke in. Connor’s fingers curl themselves into his hair, tugging lightly at first then harder as Hank traces more light into his skin, Connor’s moans coming louder and longer as the synthskin recedes to bare his gleaming chassis to Hank’s touch. His legs cinch round Hank’s waist, head thrown back against the pillows as he holds on and can do nothing else but _feel._

 

Well, not quite. He still pulls Hank down by his hair, crashing their mouths together with a desperate moan that’s no longer voice, just pure static and Hank can’t help the groan he gives in response, nor the sharp buck of his hips that splits Connor deep and wrenches out another burst of static from the android beneath him.

 

Hank pants as he starts to crest, pleasure stirring hot and tight in his gut and he wants to move back, press the interface to Connor’s clit again, but Connor has him held too tightly, tongue sliding hot and intoxicating against his own and Hank is just _full_ of brilliantly wicked ideas this evening because he slides two fingers between their mouths, uncoordinated and inelegant, but it gets the job done as he presses the pads down onto the most sensitive part of Connor’s body. His _tongue_.

 

Connor’s body _sparks._ He convulses with a shattered cry as he comes so hard his LED splutters all three colours in random bursts of light. Hank gasps and groans as the heat in his gut snaps and bleeds through his body, pleasure surging through him with enough force to white out his vision for a second. But through it all, he feels it before he sees it, as Connor’s body bucks and writhes, the sudden rush of wetness between their joined hips as Connor – wonderful, perfect, fucking _astounding_ Connor – comes again with a screech of feedback and _squirts_.

 

“God— _fuck—“_ Hank chokes out, gasping for breath as he all but collapses on Connor’s still twitching body, careful to keep the interface on his hand away from him. Just in case he _actually_ fucking breaks him. “You okay, baby?” His voice sounds far away, barely audible past the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

 

Connor gives a single nod, eyes glazed over as he stares at the ceiling. His LED has calmed to a slow pulse of yellow, hopefully while his systems settle down and not because Hank’s fucked him into glitching.

 

“I,” Connor says as soon as his vocal modulator is back online. “Would prefer if we used that… sparingly.”

 

Hank looks up at him, hair plastered to his forehead. “Oh?”

 

Connor swallows. Hums an affirmative. “I can’t feel my legs.”

 

Hank snorts a laugh, laughing harder as Connor slaps him on the arm with playful annoyance.

 

“Hey, you’re not the only one allowed to buy sex toys, you know,” Hank says, grinning. “I just prefer to do it in private.”

 

“Oh, actually, I did see one the other day—“

 

Hank hollers and hits him with a pillow. “Stop trying to kill me! I’m _old_ , Connor.”

 

The laughter muffled by the pillow is ridiculously endearing, and Hank can’t resist moving it out of the way so he can catch that smiling mouth in a soft, easy kiss.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
